


Of Hands and Truths

by PuppiesRainbowsSadism



Series: Mandrake and Moonstone [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Familiar Castiel, Gen, M/M, Past Suicide Attempt, Suicide Attempt, Witch Sam, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-07
Updated: 2016-07-07
Packaged: 2018-07-22 02:35:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7416241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PuppiesRainbowsSadism/pseuds/PuppiesRainbowsSadism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Castiel finally come clean about what happened to them during the four years they were apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Hands and Truths

**Author's Note:**

> Tags only for the first chapter because that's what I have written. I'll add Cas's part later.
> 
> You probably have to read Mandrake and Moonstone to fully understand what's going on here.
> 
> I'm really excited to expand this series and for all the enthusiasm I've had for it.

The energy in the room was calm, yet electric. Castiel could feel it like static that raised the hair on his arms even as it soothed him.

Sam had both of Castiel’s hands in his own, eyes closed, breaths deep. Meditating. Magicking. Castiel closed his eyes as well and just let himself  _ feel _ .

Out of everything that Castiel missed while they were apart, this was probably what he missed the most -- the quiet, calm energy; the peace when time seemed to stand still; the sense of satisfaction and fulfillment when he was able to assist his witch.

When Sam started to come back to himself, Castiel felt it. He opened his eyes, but kept still, waiting. Full minutes later, and Sam breathed, relaxed, and slowly opened his eyes to meet Castiel’s. His gaze was still glassy but gradually cleared. A small smile grew on his face as he muttered under his breath, and Castiel frowned.

“Were you praying?”

Sam hummed in affirmation. “That okay?”

“It’s not my business,” he said, but then immediately followed with, “When was the last time you prayed?”

It was an invasive question, Castiel knew, but he was curious. Sam continued practising while they were separated, that much he was sure of, but had he held onto his faith?

“Four years ago,” Sam answered softly. He still resonated calmness but closed himself off just slightly.

“Around The Accident?”

“A couple of weeks after.”

“Why?”

Sam sighed -- a significantly more weighted breath than when he had been meditating -- and closed his eyes briefly, as if it pained him. “You asked why I had Serenity.”

A while ago, yes, Castiel had asked about the service pet. He was ashamed to admit that he had been jealous of the dragon at first, and she had certainly not loved him. Over time, as they warmed to each other, his curiosity faded.

“It’s the same story,” Sam continued.

Castiel hadn’t been expecting a story when he asked why Sam had prayed those years ago. He expected an answer such as  _ for forgiveness _ or  _ in desperation _ .

“You don’t have to tell me.”

“You asked. And I promised. Just let me  . . . ” He squeezed Castiel’s hands, and he immediately squeezed back. If Sam needed his support, Castiel would give it gladly, without thinking.

Another deep breath. Castiel focused on the energy -- threaded with anxiety and shame, but still, for the most part, peaceful. Whatever Sam was about to tell him, he had already made peace with it.

“Pop quiz,” Sam started with a hint of joviality that he didn’t actually feel. “How do you kill a witch?”

Immediately, Castiel’s stomach dropped. No matter what the answer was or where this was going, he wasn’t going to like it. But then, any backstory for a service animal likely wasn’t cheery.

Sam must have sensed Castiel’s dread, because he squeezed his hands once more, encouraging.

“Um,” Castiel began, struggling to keep himself composed. “There are several ways. Fire. Bury them alive. Some forms of transfiguration can make it easier. . . . ”

“Okay.” Sam smiled with self-depreciation. “How do you kill a  _ good _ witch.”

Witches were difficult to kill to begin with, but a skilled witch was capable and could work quickly. They would be able to escape almost any situation. It was the reason Sam had escaped two fires in his lifetime. To kill a skilled witch, one had to make them hesitate or -- 

Castiel squeezed his eyes shut as he shook his head as if he could erase the thought. The witch had to hesitate, or not act at all.

It was possible that Sam did one of those things for a good reason. Maybe an innocent person was in danger. Maybe he was attacked by someone he knew.

But Castiel knew that the more likely option was that he didn’t  _ want _ to act. He wanted to die.

“Cas, stop.” Sam’s voice was strained. He sounded as hurt as Castiel felt. “Stop. I can feel your pain. I’m fine. I’m here. It’s okay.”

No, it wasn’t okay, but Castiel wasn’t going to argue. “How?” he choked out. “Why?”  _ What happened? _

Sam leaned forward to rest his head on Castiel’s shoulder. Castiel automatically wrapped his arms around him, a comfort for both of them.

Sam’s whisper would have felt intimate, loverlike, if he weren’t describing his own near-death.

“Transfiguration. Ice.”

“Who?”

“Me.”

“No, who cast it, Sam?”

Sam hesitated only a moment. “Me.”

The pain that shot through him was familiar -- the pain of his heart shattering in his chest. He buried his face in Sam’s neck and clutched him tighter. Breathed his scent and felt his pulse under his hands. Sam was alive. Sam was okay. This was all in the past.

That didn’t change the fact that Castiel had failed his witch in a fundamental way.

“Why?” he asked again.

“I lost  _ everything _ in that fire, Cas. Everything. And then I had to live in a home that you weren’t in. And then I -- I got the box.” Sam’s fingers caressed the choker that Castiel wore around his throat, marking him as Sam’s, and he didn’t have to say anything else. It didn’t make Castiel feel any better, but he understood.

“Dean found out somehow,” Sam continued without prompting. “You know, he says he doesn’t have a drop of magic in his blood, but I think he got some clairvoyance or empathy or something. He knew what was happening and begged me to stop. I . . . I was stupid. I could have succeeded if I just kept the door closed. But he wanted to say goodbye properly, and I didn’t think he’d be able to reverse what I’d done.”

“He reversed the spell?” Through his long-belated grief, Castiel was impressed.

“Well, no. But he stopped it about halfway, and at that point, I couldn’t continue it. And it would’ve been stupid to just stay like that.”

Sam pulled back, holding Castiel at arm’s length, and wiped away the tracks made by tears Castiel hadn’t realised he’d shed.

“After that, Dean lived with me for a while, and when he wasn’t around, I went to Benny’s. At some point, he found Serenity in the shed out back, where you used to take in animals. Remember? He took care of her and trained her as well as he could.” Sam shrugged, as if he hadn’t just ripped Castiel’s heart out and they won’t both worse for wear from it. “And that’s how I got Serenity.”

Castiel shook his head, utterly at a loss for words. Sam was the strongest person he knew. He never would have guessed what he had done -- tried to do -- if he hadn’t heard it from Sam himself just now. But then, it was only the thought of Sam that kept him fighting. If he’d learned Sam was dead, Castiel would absolutely have died right alongside him.

Castiel knew that Sam only promised him this story in exchange for his own, but Castiel could not bring himself to shift the focus.

“I’m so sorry, Cas.”

He looked up at the sound of Sam’s voice, choked with tears, to find Sam’s eyes red and wet and staring at the floor in something like shame. “You waited four years for me, and I couldn’t even last three weeks without you.”

Castiel shook his head once more and laced their fingers together. Sam still wouldn’t look at him, but that was okay. “I knew for a fact you were alive. You thought I was dead.”

“I thought. I didn’t know.”

“You were misinformed and led to believe I was dead.”

“If I had died, you would have too.”

“And I’m honestly okay with that.”

Sam’s eyes finally snapped up to meet his. Castiel pushed his heartache aside, focusing on the steely determination and honesty he felt with the statement.

He knew Sam felt it because his expression cleared even as a tear escaped.

“You prayed?” His voice was weak. Sam tried to send him energy, but he refused it as well as he could.

“Yeah,” Sam answered meekly.

“Why?”

“For forgiveness. For protection for Dean. And to see you again.”

Castiel bowed his head and let himself weep openly. He didn’t have to be a pillar of strength right now. Sam was fine. He was safe and healthy and  _ okay _ .

Castiel squeezed Sam’s hands. Sam squeezed back.

.

**Author's Note:**

> The title has a double meaning.
> 
> On one hand, Sam and Cas are kind of "laying it all out" here. On the other hand, the "laying-on of hands" is a Pagan/Wiccan concept that (VERY simply) touch can heal. In this case, Sam and Cas are "laying on" hands and truths.


End file.
